


Sinking Under

by Darkravenwrote



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Constipation, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 21:57:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10953516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkravenwrote/pseuds/Darkravenwrote
Summary: This is Draco's point of view from some of ustorycollector's Stutter, in which Draco doesn't think he's good enough, while Harry wants more than just benefits.





	Sinking Under

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unadulteratedstorycollector](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unadulteratedstorycollector/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8410105) by [unadulteratedstorycollector](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unadulteratedstorycollector/pseuds/unadulteratedstorycollector). 



> Ok, the smut I tried to add was the worst smut to ever smut, and it was an embarrassment compared to the wonderful smut in Stutter and I just had to take it out. Because I loved Stutter, I thought it was a lovely fic and I really enjoyed the writing. I'm so scared I haven't done this remix justice, but hopefully you'll like it, ustorycollector.
> 
> This fic works best having read the original Stutter, although it could just about be read without.
> 
> Also, thank you to our merciful mods, because talk about getting something in last minute. They gave me like a month extra for reasons and I really needed it and am forever thankful.
> 
> Note on the title: I took it from the same song the original fic came from, Maroon 5's Stutter.

"Are your trousers tight enough?" Pansy says before her pert little bottom hits her chosen bar stool. She takes a tissue from her bedazzled purse and wipes her claimed patch of bar, then settles her elbows on it and stares beseechingly at him. "Is that even allowed?"

Draco smiles at her, overly sweet.

They both know she clocked Harry on her way in. They both also know they aren't going to outright comment on it either. Instead, Draco says, "I'm a bartender; if anything it's encouraged."

As if to prove his point, a heavily inebriated muggle flounces up to the bar, flutters her eyelashes at him while glancing down coyly at the rise of his arse and slurs, "Three firebombs and a skittle, handsome."

While he's at it, Draco mixes Pansy her usual Sex on the Beach. An additional perk: he can stare covertly at Harry's reflection in the tacky gold mirror behind the bar. He's sitting far away, the lights keep stirring up a blinding glare, and it's smeared with who knows what, but it's something.

"Don't you think it's a bit pathetic?" Pansy asks pointedly. She doesn't even need to nod at the mirror to hammer it home, but she does anyway because she's a little bitch like that.

"Obviously," he agrees, handing the drunk girl her drinks and change.

This is how his nights always go when Harry's here: spent pining at the bar, usually half-hard and thinking about the fantastic sex he's going to have as soon as his shift ends (sooner if he can swing it).

It's only half ten when his not-so-iron-clad will breaks tonight. He glances surreptitiously around for his manager as he's mixing some fruity cocktail - she's down in the cellar by the looks of it - and contorts himself slightly so he can slip his phone out of the tight pocket of his trousers.

'Enjoying the view?' he types, then pauses with his thumb over 'send'.

Harry's staring at him in the mirror. A thrill stirs across his back, like a phantom memory of the puff of Harry's breath when he comes, and Draco's so close he can't see from the sheer pleasure of it.

He hits send, then gets back to work on his cocktails.

Seconds later a reply comes back. He refuses to fumble his phone with his eagerness. 'How do you work in trousers that tight?'

He considers replying, perhaps some innuendo or just continuing with a flirtation. He slips his phone away in the end. The night will still end with Harry fucking into him, and Draco running away into the night like the dirty little secret he is. His stomach drops heavily.

Pansy must have seen Harry's text, though, because from behind him she says, "More to the point, how have you got the circulation to keep your dick happy?"

He can't help it. She's so rarely a potty-mouth, and the situation is so ridiculous. The Great Draco Malfoy, confident philanderer and around town man-whore, is in fucking love with someone too good to step on him with a shit-stained shoe. He laughs. Freely and possibly slightly manically.

Even worse, he can't tell if the baleful look Pansy gives him - somewhere between a smile and a pout - is pitying or annoyed.

A little while later, he spots movement out of the corner of his eye; Harry downing his drink and heading for the toilets.

Draco signals that he's taking his break and seizes the opportunity.

Who knows how much longer Harry will be interested.

 

* * *

Mutual hand jobs and one of their best fucks to date will relax any guy, but even then, “What is this?” will put anyone on full-blown Red Alert.

To be honest, Draco isn't really sure what just happened, only that he had to get the hell out of there.

Pansy's guest for the evening - a tall, possibly Spanish gentleman with a six-pack and mane of dark glistening hair – is eating a strawberry from her bare bellybutton when Draco stumbles from her fireplace, trousers still undone.

The bloke startles, but Pansy smooths her hand over his hair and says, blasé, “May I help you?”

It takes Draco a good minute to answer, both because he's processing the scene in front of him and because he's trying to come up with an answer.

“I think,” he stutters finally, which is very unlike him, “I think Harry just confessed some form of love for me.”

“I assume by your state of dress that it wasn't platonic.” She reaches for the bowl of berries beside the sofa and delicately places a raspberry in the divot between her ribs, arching her back for additional effect. Spaniard rolls his hips appreciatively. Draco wonders if he's forgotten all about the interruption or if he's a muggle Pansy's enchanted. “Congratulations.”

“But what do I do?”

Pansy sighs and shoves her date to the side. He smiles up at her. Enchanted then.

“Go tell him you feel the same of course, you utter moron. _Boys_ , honestly.”

“But...he's a twenty out of ten in every way, and I'm a shallow nine with a black heart.”

“It can't be that black if he loves it; I assume he didn't stipulate that he only loves your face.”

“Well, no, but-”

“So turn your tight little tush around, and go back and tell him. This might be the most arseholey thing you've ever done, Draco, leaving him in the lurch like that.”

“But I won't be good for him. I can't be nice to him or, or...”

“Tell him that too. Although by now I would think he knows what he's getting.”

Draco stares at her. When she says it like that, it all sounds so simple.

“Why would he want me?”

“Darling, I love you, but for the sake of my evening, please go and ask _him_ that, not me.”

Draco inches back towards the fireplace, eager but reserved and extremely nervous. What happens next could be the first moment of the rest of his life. For better or for worse.

“He'll be at Ron and Hermione's.”

“Go there then.”

With that Pansy dismisses him, pulling her date back atop her and placing another strawberry between her pouted lips for him to collect.

Draco dodges nimbly for the floo powder.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Fic headers](http://hd-remix.tumblr.com/post/160884021009/remix-for-ustorycollector-sinking-under-author) and a [pull quote](http://hd-remix.tumblr.com/post/160919770075/its-only-half-ten-when-his-not-so-iron-clad-will) have been cross-posted to tumblr. Help us promote the fest by liking and reblogging!


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